


But Not Quite as Much as Tomorrow

by fencer_x



Category: Sekai-ichi Hatsukoi
Genre: M/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-07
Updated: 2011-07-07
Packaged: 2017-10-21 03:03:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/220174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fencer_x/pseuds/fencer_x
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I love you more today than yesterday."</p>
            </blockquote>





	But Not Quite as Much as Tomorrow

You feel like somewhere, somehow...there is a clock. A timer. And it is counting down--agonizingly slowly at times, breathtakingly quickly at others--the weeks, days, hours, minutes, seconds until you offer up your heart on a plate to Takano-san.

And it scares you half to death.

You've never felt in control of your life, really. Not once. Not when you fell in love in middle school, because your parents had already picked out the person you were going to spend the rest of your life with. Not when you were assigned to Usami-sensei (he'd been your _idol_ since high school), because you knew it was a gift from your father. Not when you packed up your desk and canceled your commuter pass to transfer to Marukawa, because you knew favors had changed hands to let you slip right in under everyone's noses in the middle of the financial year.

You've never felt in control before, but you're starting to not mind nearly as much as in the past. Oh sure, you try to fool yourself into thinking you're self-reliant, that you'll work where you damn well please and kiss who you damn well please and fall in love with who you damn well please, but deep down you know you haven't really been allowed free reign in those choices--not as much as you'd like to believe.

So you fight them, at first. But eventually you know you'll be tamed and gentled like any wild animal and accept that your father--your family--is always going to be standing with one hand on your shoulder helping to guide you to good career decisions, and that no matter what name he takes, you'll always be inexorably drawn to Saga-sempai, helpless to avoid being swept away by his attentions and affections which yes, you realize, are genuine and true and unrelenting as the stormy seas you compare them to. You could drown in Takano-san's love for you, and every time he confesses his feelings to you, you're drawn a little further under.

You know this metaphorical countdown is happening, ticking away the moments, because with each passing day you can feel your will to resist wearing down. You wonder in your idle moments, when your attention is less focused on figuring out how to best promote Mutou-sensei's newest title and more on the bags under Takano-san's eyes that are entirely your own fault, just what will happen when the clock strikes zero--maybe nothing. Maybe life will continue on as usual and you'll realize that this is just how your life has always been, one plodding step forward after another with no real goals beyond the ones right before your nose.

Takano-san has goals, and you envy him for that. He has charm and charisma and a ruthless attitude and innate skills that you can only dream of imitating, a pathetic attempt to try to reach his league. And yet he seems to not only _not mind_ but actually _long_ to step down from his high horse and teach you how to accomplish the most elementary of tasks, to share a cold meal from the conbini or simple cup of noodles and beer after a long day of work on yours or his floor. You envy, more, his ability to smoothly navigate his pursuing you; he seems to play you like a master, always seeming completely in control of the situation, and despite the efforts he goes through to try and convince you that you make his pulse race and his skin flush just by being close, you're dubious, because deep down you still remember him as Saga-sempai and can't comprehend what he could see in you that's remotely _desirable_ compared to him.

But maybe--maybe instead, everything will just _explode_. Your ever-rising feelings for him will just burst out of your mouth (probably in the middle of a meeting, with your luck) and you'll have to endure Takano-san's knowing smirk for the rest of the day before he assaults you on your doorstep (and that's if he's managed to hold himself back on the walk home and in the elevator, tall orders) and presses those feelings in your face, blackmailing you into willingly submitting to his attentions because _you like me, right, Onodera? So it's fine_.

You're not sure which outcome is more abhorrent, honestly.

For now, though, you can only put forth your best effort to get through the day, ignoring that ticking sound that no one but you seem to hear, and focus on your work, resolutely not noticing the way Takano-san brushes his fingers through your hair when he passes your desk or how he stands too close to you in the elevator when there's no one else around or how he gets this look of such disappointment when you brush past him and hastily lock yourself away in your apartment before he can invite you over with whatever new excuse he's concocted on the way home.

And then, in the privacy of your own home, you'll slump against the door, curled up in the genkan in a little ball of nerves, and bury your head in your crossed arms, trying to slow your breathing, because reactions like this only make the clock tick faster--and had you but world enough and time, maybe you could comfortably fall into Takano-san's arms and it would be like coming home, like being away on a long, dark journey and finally returning to the warmth you never should have left. Maybe you could thread your fingers through his hair and slowly press your lips to his, showing him how you've been paying attention to his "lessons" and that you're a worthy lover for him now. Maybe you could feel like you remotely deserve the depth of his love for you.

For now, though, the clock ticks a steady, rhythmic clicking tattoo that falls into step with your own heartbeat, thumping along slow and regular at times and feverish and frantic at others, reminding you that you can't turn back this clock any more than you can reverse your own heart and the feelings encapsulated therein.

You're powerless, in every sense of the word--but you're kind of used to it now.


End file.
